


Equal Primogeniture

by Lithosaurus



Series: Self Indulgent ASOIAF stuff [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Multiple Pov, Robert's Rebellion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 08:49:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18427142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lithosaurus/pseuds/Lithosaurus
Summary: In which, following the Dance of the Dragons, the laws of inheritance are made equal between sons and daughters. The War of the Five Kings may see a few queens as well.





	1. Fathers

“…Following Daeron the First’s death, the new policy was tested. As Rhaena was never raised to be a heir, many doubted her ability to lead. She was married to her husband Aegon (breaking a loose betrothal with is sister Nerys) and the two begat Daeron the Good and Daenerys of Dorne. Unlike her husband, Rhaena took a great interest in ruling. She is famed for saying that she wished to be as much a model for the young women of the realm as the Maiden and the Mother. She pushed for female inheritance across the realm and gained support from the many houses left with no male heirs by both the Dance and the Dornish War. In addition, her Dornish goodbrothers by her sister Elaena and Daena rallied support from Starfall and Hellholt. The queen instituted declarations protecting the inheritance of women both high born and common, permitted land ownership by unmarried women,  strengthened laws that punished the crime of rape and wife beating, and pushed for the acceptance of women in the Religion of the Seven. For this, she was dubbed Rhaena the Just by the growing female presence in court and not even the grumbling male malcontents of previous generations could quell the love of the people for her.  It is said that she died of a broken heart when her husband gave Blackfyre to his bastard by her own sister, rather than their own son. After Rhaena the Just, few Targaryen heirs were born female but the path of many a noble house was changed forever.”

-Septa Jennane, 261 AC

 

Cersei, not for the first time in her short life, thanked Rhaena the Just. The long dead queen didn’t know what she had done. As she walked through the halls of Casterly Rock (her halls, her Rock) she drew all the attention and respect that Tywin’s heir deserved. Jaime was too concerned with his swordplay and Tyrion wasn’t worth mentioning but Cersei was her father’s heir and she could thank Rhaena for that.

She swept up the steps to her fathers solar and past the guards that stood there. He was reading a report at his desk. She could spot the Whent seal on it. Another missive from the tournament, then. How long was that to go on? She wanted Jaime back from his playing as much as she wanted to be there at the real Game.

“Father,” She curtsied, close enough to his desk to read the words.

“Cersei.” He acknowledged.

“It’s come to my knowledge that you arranged a betrothal-”

“With the Marbrand son. Yes. He is the first born son and his family’s position with the Tyrells will do us good. I do not have time for your protests. I heard them before.”

Cersei bit her lip and tried not to sneer. “Surely our interests are better kept closer to the rock.”

“No, they are not. I do not have time for this, Cersei.” He still hadn’t looked up from his report. Cersei’s fist tightened.

“No,” she said. “You do not.”

 The letter open came down on his exposed wrist before he could look up. As he moved to staunch the flow of blood, she sliced again. Her father collapsed to the plush carpet with blood turning the red material dark around him. He gasped once and glared at her with naked disgust.

“I am your heir, my lord father.” She whispered. “And I will make my own decisions about who I marry. And who my brothers marry, after your unfortunate death.”

His body went limp in seconds. Cersei rearranged the letters on his desk, carefully putting one worn and folded piece of parchment on top. A letter from her mother sent mere months before they married. A poor old man found with his wrists slashed and his dead wife’s memory exposed on his desk. It would be a tragedy and the softest moment in his life.

The letter opener dropped beside him, Cersei exited, sure to appear in a huff to the guards. It would be a few hours still before the maids brought him his dinner and discovered her poor father’s death.  In the meantime, she would have to begin drafting letters to her Lannisport cousins. Dear Tyra always did love the Rock. She would not dispute living there with Jaime as the Steward. Cersei smiled to herself quietly and appreciated the feel of her life in her own hands.

-

Father sulked at the desk with a ledger placed in front of him. Catelyn waited for him to respond to her arrival and considered her words. She suspected- but didn’t know- what the matter was. This morning, Father had taken part in a hunting party with Lady Cersei Lannister, her brother Jaime, and her husband Denys Marbrand. It would have afforded him a chance to speak with the Lady of the Rock without so many prying ears. They may be far away from the Red Keep but few places were out of sight of the capital. The newly wed was proving herself to be as shrewd a maneuverer as her late father and to meet her here in the Riverlands was an opportunity, to say the least. In addition, Lady Rowena Arryn had recently expressed interest in a betrothal between Edmure and her granddaughter and heir Sharys Arryn. But the third child could not be betrothed before the second, hence Father’s ride with Cersei and Jaime Lannister.

Privately, Catelyn could only hope that Father’s ambitions weren’t beyond his grasp. Lord Whent’s Tournament was something out of a song or a dream. The lords of the great houses convened to joust and dance and revel. Edmure and Lysa had danced just as much as she had but Catelyn was the heir and knew when her Father’s frowns were more than their usually dourness. How could they not be? King Aerys was in attendance along with his Queen and heirs. Catelyn may have danced but she danced for higher stakes.

She had seen King Aery’s gnarled finger nails when the Tullys presented to him and watched the unhinged skitter of his eyes from face to face. The gods had tossed their coin it had landed firmly on the side of madness. Edmure to the Vale, Lord Rickard’s soft spoken second son to Riverrun, Lyanna Stark heading all the way south to Storm’s End, and now Father’s ride with Lady Cersei; it was clear and dangerous play to Catelyn. Who else would see the gambit?

“What do you know of Willas Tyrell?” He asked her.

“The cripple?” She answered before thinking.

Father’s raised eyebrow was enough of a scolding. Catelyn bowed her head. When she raised it again she had better words.

“He is of an age with Lysa and the heir to Highgarden after his father Lord Mace Tyrell. Last years, he was injured in a joust against Prince Oberyn Martell. His leg has not yet healed and the word is that it will not. He is said to be a thoughtful and studious man who has put his energies into the breeding of hounds and the cultivation of roses without his martial abilities.”

“Remember to consider which ‘they’s you take into consideration but you are correct, Cat.” Her father said. “And you seem to be arriving at the same conclusion as I. Lady Cersei has rejected my offer. I will mean to make overtures with the Tyrell for Willas’s hand. Would you direct your efforts to speaking with them as well?” It was not a request.

Catelyn nodded. Willas was younger than her and his brother younger sister but there were other Tyrells. Lord Mace’s brothers and sister would be entertaining enough company for her to speak with, not just advantageous. Still, she had wanted to spend more time with her future goodfamily. Eddard was painfully shy but his sister and brother were not. She had been hoping to gain a better understanding of his character through them. But no matter; Lysa came first.

In the end, Catelyn regretted the time she didn’t spend with the Starks.


	2. Mothers and Sons

Olenna settled herself on a bench near enough the dancefloor to watch but far enough that she wouldn’t have over eager children tripping over her. She was more than happy to be the dotting frail dowager while also not having to twirl or skip about like a rabbit in heat. Willas joined her on the bench and carefully stretched his lame leg out in front of him. It wasn’t right that her grandchild worried more about his hip and knees than she did. Willas spent most of his time at functions with her but she knew he’d rather be on the dancefloor, unlike her.

Damn Mace and his tourneys, damn self-congratulatory feasts and empty accolades, damn children playing at war. In a way, it had been too long since Westeros had seen a true war like the Blakcfyre Rebellions. Thousands dead in the fields, burned crops, raping and pillaging and death… The Nine Penny Kings had done nothing but make the mad Targaryens seem useful and war seem glorious. Glorious! She hated that word but that was beside the point.

Willas, her first born grandchild, was sitting rather than dancing with the wide array of fine pretty maidens Harrenhall had to offer. Because his father wanted the boy to see ‘real’ jousting at four-and-ten. A cluster of giggling girls from the Crownlands caught his eye and he watched as the Florent brothers sidled up to them. The Silver Prince spun through her field of vision with his sickly viper of a wife. Olenna swallowed down bitterness. It could have been Jana or Mina he danced with. Both had been of age and unmatched when Rhaegar came of age. But Mace, determined to prove himself after dear Luthor’s untimely death, had made his stand and betrothed Mina to Paxter Redwyne. A Redwyne! As if their loyalty was doubted or they needed anymore sway in the business of house Tyrell. And Jana was still dithering about trying to chose which one of the indistinguishable Fossoways to marry. Because Mace had promised an alliance with the Fossoways through marriage but had promised to let her chose. Olenna felt her mouth purse. She relaxed the muscles of her face and spied a newcomer approaching them. The music changed to a much more sedate tune as Catelyn Tully curtsied in front of her.

“Lady Olenna, Lord Willas. May I ask for this dance, my lord.” She peered up at Willas from under her lashes. She was a pretty sight, resplendent in silver and blue with her auburn hair running down to her waist and her fine figure hugged by the linen. Willas’s throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“My lady, I fear I cannot- my leg...”

“It is a slow tune.” She assured him. “We need not move too quickly.”

Willas looked to her and then followed Catelyn onto the floor. The girl was gracefully and more than accommodating to his limited mobility. The look of happiness on his face as he followed her lead lifted Olenna’s heart. She sighed. It was ridiculous sight. She towered over him by inches and his smooth cheeks seemed all the more obvious so close to her firm chest. The Queen of Thorns had no doubt that the future Lady of Riverrun was scouting an eligible match for her sister. She would do better than Mace ever could.

The little Tully in question strolled by on the arm of Queen Rhaella. A pretty young thing that would have done well on the arm of her Willas but it would never happen. He was too young, too broken, and Mace would probably hold out hope for a match with one of the Dornish houses, hoping to shore up their borders. Olenna would tut and suggest what she could but Mace had long since decided he no longer needed his mother. Willas, however, was a bright boy who knew as well as she that you did not worry about reaching up the trellis until your roots were strong.  Garlan, too, was a bright boy and little Loras adored her. Alerie and her were both hoping for a girl with her goddaughters current pregnancy. Olenna smiled to herself as Willas laughed at something Catelyn Tully whispered to him. She cared deeply for her children and grandchildren and knew how to help them grow stronger.

-

Rhaella steadied herself against the edge of the table and tried to discretely catch her breath. Rhaegar had smiled so gently when they took their turn on the dance floor that she didn’t have the heart to remind him she didn’t have energy for dancing. Elia was taking a turn with her son now and the floor had cleared as the two of them spun about the floor. The musicians were excellently trained and the stately waltz that they had struck up suited the beautiful couple perfectly. Rhaella swallowed down the tears that came with her smile.

Tears came in the most unexpected of times for her. Jaeherys’ death had left her shaken to the core with a broken foundation but she didn’t know where her cracks were. She could watch dry eyed as her brother burned men alive or visited her in the night but she could prick her finger sewing and Corra would have to hold her as she wept for an hour. Even now, watching Elia spin about the dancefloor in beautiful red silk, knowing that another grandchild might be spinning about the floor as well- it brought tears to her eyes.

“Your Highness, are you well?” A soft voice came from her elbow.

Rhaella quickly, but subtly corrected her posture and smiled to the voice. It was one of the Tully daughters, though she couldn’t remember which.

“I am inclined to my sentimentality, now and again.” She smiled. The girl beamed back at her and fidgeted into place next to her at the table. Together they watched as the final bars of the song cleared and Rhaegar escorted his wife back to her family.

“They seem as perfect as a song.” The Tully girl whispered to her.

“They do.” Rhaella agreed. “They are, I believe.” Or she wanted to believe.

She wanted to believe that her silver son would be as great as their forefathers. Elia, for all her dissembling and weak constitution would be exactly the foil Rhaegar would need on the throne. Decisive when he was contemplative, skeptical when he was faithful, suspicious when he was forgiving, and in possession of a mind as nearly as keen as her mother’s. As the two women circled the floor, Rhaella considered her own youth. Jo, Ari, and Rhae, sewing in the Maidenvault and chattering about betrothals or fashions or rumors. But Joanna had died doing her duty to Lord Tywin, Arianne has not travelled from Sunspear since she broke her hip riding, and the girl that was sweet, quiet Rhae had died years ago. Rhaella could only hope that the Tully girl next to her would not find such a fate.

“Tell me, has your father found you a fitting young man for you?”

“No, your grace, though he says that Willas Tyrell would be a good match.” So it was the younger one then, Lysa. Catelyn was betrothed to Rickard Starks first spare heir. Rhaegar had mentioned Edmure Tully and Sharys Arryn sheepishly mimicking the wooing game, as well. Rhaella frowned to herself. Lord Tully was catching quite a bit with his three little fish. And Lord Robert Baratheon was singing the praises of his sweet maiden Lyanna Stark to anyone who would listen. Four houses would be locked together in blood within the decade. Willas Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden would bring wheat and the masses of the south into the fold to support the fortresses of Winterfell, Storm’s End, and the Eyrie.

“Your Grace? You seem quite pale.” Lysa Tully’s hand gripped her arm slightly. It was terribly forward but Rhaella appreciated the support. Lysa gently led them to a nearby bench. The poor thing looked terrified at the Queen’s sudden ill health. No- more than that the girl seemed concerned, genuinely.

“Pardon me, Lysa, I suddenly felt quite warm.”

Rhaegar and Elia were laughing with Ser Llewyn and young Ser Jaime Lannister. The boy seemed starstruck by the mere conversation but Rhaella new that there were calculations going on in her son’s mind. Aerys had retired for the night long before the music begun. What would he have seen if he’d watch the rounds of the dance? She could only pray that her son knew what role he was playing in this all.


	3. A Dance and Game

Willas was sweet but he was so, so much younger than she had thought. His bright green eyes gleamed as she went through the slow steps of the round. He spoke of the jousting that would come next week with excitement and a bit of sorrow for missing the competition. Catelyn wished his uncles luck in the lists then avoided the topic for the rest of the dance. She was uncomfortable and felt like her eyes were being drawn toward his injured leg. She asked about the roses of Highgarden, confessed that she would like to see them one day.

“Perhaps you will,” Willas said. “Our seats are not so far that the Lady of Riverrun would be an unusual sight in our walls.”

She smiled. “I would love to see the roses and fields of your home, my lord.”

Lady Olenna watched them as they returned to her spot. Willas bowed to her once again after he released her arm. Catelyn tried and failed not to pity the boy as he sat down beside his grandmother with his legs beginning to tremble.

“Sit with us a moment, Lady Catelyn.” Lady Olenna said it like an invitation but she knew it was an order. Catelyn considered refusing, making an excuse in order to establish her control but decided the opportunity for a conversation was well worth a bit of indignity. She took her place on the other side of Olenna.

“A beautiful night.” The older woman sighed. “And such beautiful dancers. I must compliment your seamstresses. This that lace Myrish?”

“Yes, my lady.” Catelyn said. “And I shall pass on your compliments to my ladies.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Brandon Stark tempting Ellora Mooten onto the floor. The girl’s nimble fingers trembled in his. Catelyn felt a swell of protectiveness for her handmaiden.

“The heir of Riverrun has more important things to do with her time than sew?”

“I do.” Catelyn agreed. It made Olenna laugh.

“I am glad to hear our northern neighbors will be well led. That is, many summer from now after your good father has lived to a ripe old age.”

Catelyn resisted a frown. She had no urge to see her father dead and gone. “One can hope. He wishes to see a fair number of grandchildren before his time comes. Surely you can understand.”

“That I do. Speaking of which, I believe you have a different audience.” She nodded back towards the dance floor.

Brandon Stark had abandoned Ellora and was making his way towards her. Her future good-brother seemed to have something on his mind.

“Lady Catelyn, may I ask for a dance?” Brandon asked with a graceful bow.

“It would be my pleasure to dance with you.” She took his offered hand and left the Tyrells.

“I must admit, it’s not for me, my lady.” He said a few steps away. Too late, Catelyn saw another Stark on a collision course with them. Lyanna was pulling Eddard along while chattering at him. Brandon slipped away at the same time as his sister and Catelyn found herself face to face with a surprised looking Eddard.

“Lya! What are-” He hissed.

“It’s a feast, Ned!” The girl shoved him another step closer. “Try dancing, for once. My lady.” She gave Catelyn a nod and flounced back across the dance floor with Brandon.

 He turned back to her, looking ashamed and nervous. Catelyn couldn’t help but be disappointed. Despite her betrothal to Eddard was signed years ago and they had only met twice before and neither time was she impressed. Brandon was far handsomer with his piercing eyes and strong jaw. Eddard looked a pale imitation of his brother and acted as Robert Baratheon’s quiet shadow. She didn’t know how he would prove himself to the Riverlords if he let himself be pushed around by a fourteen year old girl.

She cleared her throat. “Your sister seems to be in good humors.”

“Aye. She has been enjoying the festivities. Would you care to have this dance?” He blurted out the question. Never mind that they were half way through a song. Catelyn considered but thought better of it.

“It is quite warm in here. Would you mind walking with me?”

He offered his arm and they made their way out of the hall and into the gardens. The sun was setting and lit the sky red. Other revelers strolled through the manicured pathways. Her cousin Walter Whent was admiring the cherry blossoms with his daughter.

“It must truly be spring for such flowers to be blossoming.” Eddard remarked.

“A frost could still kill them.” Catelyn resisted the wince. If she wanted to see Eddard without a brighter light obscuring him, she shouldn’t cut his conversations short. “Have any blossoms shone in the North?”

He shook his head. “Spring is heralded first by meltwater, for us. No such fine sights.” His cheeks turned a pink which matched the blossoms.

“Spring is my favorite season in the Riverlands. The blossoms, the flowers, the sense of new life. It is refreshing.”

They lingered next to a rose bush that was just beginning to grow knew leaves. Catelyn wondered which color they would bloom in. Her favorite bush in Riverrun’s godswood was a delicate orange. The Starks had arrived bearing three carefully potted blue winter rosebushes from Winterfell’s glass garden for the Whents. They would be forming the garlands for tomorrow’s Queen of Love and Beauty.

“I hope to see many spring with you, Lady Catelyn.” Eddard mumbled.

“Have you seen much of the Riverlands?”

“No. Only what lies on the King’s Road and Hill Road to the Eyrie, my lady.” He admitted. “Though I hope to see more. I wish to do my duty as the Lord of Riverrun and to- to due right by you, my lady.” He didn’t look her in the eye as he spoke.

Catelyn considered his meek stance and quiet words, the rosy sheen in his cheeks and the effort required by his siblings for their dance. Perhaps the Quiet Wolf of Winterfell wasn’t merely week willed and swayable boy. Perhaps…

“It would be my pleasure to show it to you.” She took his other hand, his eyes rose to meet hers. “After the tourney, my father and I were to head south and see our vassals in the Stony Sept and Pinkmaiden. We could take ship to the Isle of Faces on our way. It is the last place south of the Neck where weirwoods grow. Would you like to join our train?”

Eddard blinked at her in surprise. “I would enjoy it greatly. If Lady Arryn agrees- that is to say, I will request my leave to travel with you before returning to the Eyrie, Lady Catelyn.”

He smiled, genuinely and his face lit up. For a moment he wasn’t the dour impression of his laughing brother or the reasonable party to Baratheon’s foolery. He was Eddard Stark, with a kind smile and warm eyes.

“If you are to travel with us, I must ask that you call me Cat.”

“Of course, but then you must call be Ned.”

-

Cersei rode most of the journey back to Casterly Rock. She would have preferred to remain in her wheel house but the small folk must see their Light of the West. A Crowd has gathered at the foot of the Rock to cheer the return of their lady. She rode at the head of the procession resplendent in her crimson. Behind her, her husband and her brother rode with Ser Hightower. Jaime had been given leave to stay at the Rock following his knighting.

Martin Marbrand met them at the Lion’s Gate. He wove through the crowd of dismounting riders and porters disassembling the train. He was scowling, as always. She knew that her good-brother disliked her. He thought he was above serving as a stop gap seneschal but he would do his duty by his younger brother and by liege lady. He succinctly informed her of the events that transpired while away at Harrenhall. She waved him away with an agreement to meet in her solar in an hour’s time. For the moment, she needed a bath.

Her chambers had once been Mother’s. They gave a beautiful view of the bay and port below, framing a crisp spring day at the moment. The maids had positioned the tub so that she could peer out on the scene as they combed through her golden hair and washed away the rode dust. Her aching muscles relaxed in the steaming water as Cersei allowed herself to breath. She was a lioness in her den, safe and in control. There would be some bother with the southern granary shortages that Martin had mentioned but the fisheries in Kayce had done especially well-

The door slammed open without so much as a knock. The maids shrieked and scattered. One had enough thought to throw a towel over the tub. Jaime stood in the doorway, enraged.

“My lady, your brother-” One of her guards started.

“I can see that my brother is here.” She snapped. “Leave us and close the doors.”

The guard bowed and they were alone within a moment.

“Is there something the matter, dearest brother?” She knew what he was going to ask.

“Where’s Tyrion?”

“Away.”

“Away? Cersei what did you do? He is our brother!”

“He is shame on our house.” She stood, not bothering to cover herself. “He is the reason Mother is dead and he was only ever a hindrance.”

“He is our brother!” Jaime repeated. “Even Father knew that. If he was still alive this never would have passed.”

“But Father is not alive. He is gone and so is Tyrion.”

“What did you do!” He grabbed her by the shoulders. For a breath, she wondered how far she could push him, wondered if maybe he could be moved to violence.

“I sent him to Oldtown.”

He Jaime blinked and the anger left him. “You sent him to the Citadel?”

“Yes, he’ll renounce our name and be out of our way for good.” She lifted her chin with pride.

“He’ll able to study to become a Maester.” Jaime said. “He’ll- he can read every book in that damnable tower of theirs.”

He released her and threw himself down on her bed with a laugh.

“What is so funny?” She demanded.

“You do care about him.”

“What!”

“There were a thousand ways for you to get rid of him but you sent him to the Maesters. He always said that he would go there if they had half as many girls as they had books.”

Cersei opened her mouth to object but thought better of it. If Jaime wanted to think it was a mercy, let him. She toweled off her limbs and joined him on the bed. She rested her head on his chest and listened to his heart beat. Jaime wrapped his arms around her and kissed the crown of her head. This is what she had worked so hard for, the chance to lay in her beloved’s arms.

On a whim, she took his hand and pressed it to her stomach.

“I haven’t had my moonblood since we met in Sow’s Horn.” She whispered.

“Cersei, do you think-”

“I want it to be yours.” She confessed.

He kissed her truly then. Her bath was forgotten quickly after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that is as explicit as i'll ever get with two teenage incestuous twins ew


End file.
